Want to cement yourself in the minds of your family members, society at large, or best of all, the whole world?

Commit suicide while you are still young and useful—before you have exhausted your potential and worn out your welcome. As the popular Neil Young lyric states, “It’s better to burn out than fade away.” And isn’t this so… a cliche yes, but cliches become cliche precisely because they are true.

But you know, I never paid much attention to this universal truth until recently. Now it rings terribly thunderous like an alarm going off in my head—something I can’t turn off. And so I will write about it. Perhaps it’s annoying presence will go back to sleep if this journal entry is sufficiently cathartic.

Far from home…

1980—Ian Curtis, vocalist for Joy Division, kills himself. He becomes a martyr at 24. To this day, the music industry and fans can’t stop hooting and hurrahing for this uber-talented rock god. He is a permanent record—the default setting to which all other indie frontmen will be compared. And god forbid if you happen to be an animated, baritone Brit. You will be forever shackled to this point of reference—never free—never number one. You are condemned to be number two for eternity. The gatekeepers will never let you pass through the gates. Curtis is the hero—the Batman. You are Robin and don’t you fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You see, Curtis never burnt out—so he’ll never fade away. Sadly, Tom Smith, vocalist for the English band Editors, can’t shake the media’s obsessive habit of comparing him to Curtis. Do you think that if Ian Curtis were alive today he would have this god-like status? I don’t. But try telling that to the worshipers in the Curtis Cult. Your dissent will fall on deaf ears.

A little closer…

Another example of this better to burn out phenomenon is the haunting of Eddie Vedder by the ghost of Kurt Cobain. To this day, Pearl Jam’s frontman is asked to give defense against some silly, unfavorable remarks about him made by Nirvana’s Cobain. These retarded, insensitive journalists apparently find it irrelevant that Nirvana released only three albums—of which only one, “Nevermind,” is regarded as a masterpiece. The others are forgettable. Oh but Cobain isn’t. He is here to stay and don’t you forget it Eddie! This is simply pathetic. Vedder, along with the other Pearl Jam members, have released nine studio albums, numerous bootlegs, solo works, garnered prestigious awards, and have a huge international fan base. Plus, Eddie Vedder can sing any song with any artist. Just check out his versatility and talent on YouTube—amazing stuff! Kurt Cobain’s status rests mostly on his promising future—his potential to give the world another “Nevermind.” It does not rest on his merits. Pearl Jam’s “Ten” is at least as brilliant and groundbreaking as “Nevermind." These guys are even in 1993. However, Eddie can safely claim to have out-shined Kurt. Pearl Jam has been a band for the last 18 years and is still rocking. Nirvana lasted 7 years—extinguished with Cobain’s suicide in 1994. And so Eddie sings, “I’m still alive!” Indeed. But the idiots don't listen. His voice is muffled by their obnoxious shouts, “Give it up Vedder! Cobain is the godfather of grunge. You are a second-rate a poseur!”

Right where it counts…

My brother Jeff was not a rock star. But his legacy shines on nonetheless. Since his suicide in 2005, not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. He has forever secured himself permanent residencies in my heart and mind. Were he alive today, this wouldn’t be so. He would be thought of—of course—but not with such a grand, intense, penetrating magnitude.

Famous when dead. Better burn out before you fade away.

“Rust Never Sleeps.” ~ Neil Young

PS--Don't commit suicide. You may be thought of often. But is that a good way to leave a lasting impression? Live well and long instead. You will have a greater impact. Plus you will be alive to see your influence in all its wonderful glory.

Love...

Behind a brick wall
Cannot know what's on the
Other side.

Lust...

Draped in a red curtain
Dies once it exits
The stage.

And soon...

Those sweet and tender moments
Lose themselves in the
Hourglass's sand.

Of course...

Days pass.
Months go.
Years overflow.

And you know...

Love, lust, and compassion
Don't stay.

They dissolve.
They decay.

And so...

Before too late
Hope succumbs to fate.

And the promise of forever
Sinks into the abyss.

Nobody hates phonies as much as Holden Caulfield—except me.

When I was ten years old, the worst insult one could garner from her peers was to be labeled a fake. (Phony was not a popular term at the time.)

Being branded with this undesirable status meant that your peers would no longer accept you. You would become a playground pariah, a loner without a friend, an untrustworthy human being destined to be forever exiled from cool groups or any groups at all, for that matter. Even the nerds wouldn't have you. The bottom line was that you could not be trusted. That is what the label meant. To be fake meant you were dishonest to us, them, and possibly even to yourself. But that last part—dishonest to oneself is where it gets a bit tricky. The phony may in fact be delusional e.g. schizophrenic. But those aren’t the fakers that I am concerned with.

But why was/is being regarded as a phony worse than being called fat or lesbian (two other classic middle school insults)? I think it was/is because we are players in a social system that necessitates authenticity. In our supposed meritocracy persons are recognized and rewarded for their abilities and achievements. In this system, honesty is of the utmost importance. It is necessary for each of us to present ourselves in a truthful way. Sure we all have to fib now and then; and we all don different hats for the many different roles we play in life. This is normal and acceptable. For example I may wear a conservative, knee-length skirt and jacket to attend my daughter’s middle school graduation ceremony. But that night I might put on a sexy black dress and go dancing. Two different people? A phony? Not at all. We all have many traits that make up our identity. They can be quite varied—even at odds with one another at times. We are still who we are inside. What we are presenting to the world is genuine—weirdness and all. We are being authentic.

Phonies are liars, manipulators, and cowards. They misrepresent themselves to the world for personal gain—often at the expense of others. They benefit from our system of honesty by banking on the fact that most people are authentic. This gives phonies a great advantage. Those who are trustworthy trust them; they appear credible to the credulous. In other words, being a phony pays well precisely because the rest of us are not phonies. It is a predator/prey relationship with the predator having a slight advantage… because most of us don’t have the time, energy, or resources to check out every fact and story for accuracy. So we assume that the person we have befriended, or hired, or fell in love with is who she/he says she/he is. Otherwise the whole system falls from its fragile foundation.

Authenticity is highly valued in our society. It is a virtue. It is a necessity. We need to trust the doctor who claims to be licensed; we need to believe our lover loves us for the reasons she states; we need to feel confident that our professor is qualified to teach; we must be assured that the product we purchase is safe. We look for consistencies and thrive on patterns. This makes us feel safe to navigate this big, sometimes scary world.

And yet, most of us take this delicate, unspoken system for granted. We don’t think about it much until we run into a phony. And then our trust is shaken and our judgment questioned. Being great manipulators, phonies are able to make us feel that we are imagining their deception, that our perception is wrong. They are masters at spin and covering their tracks. We feel betrayed; but they feel no remorse. It is all about them and their image. It is a dog eat dog world and they must be number one—even if it means cheating. It’s not how you play the game but rather who comes out on top. They crave attention and will do whatever is necessary to look good in the eyes of the prey.

OK, so we all agree that being authentic is a must for our society to run smoothly. But faking rubs me the wrong way—on a very personal, gut-twisting level. It is a major character flaw—a destructive weakness that is toxic to the rest of us.

Honestly, I would rather do lunch with a bigoted, right wing fundamentalist theocrat than a sweet-talking, despicable phony. At least the fundamentalist is being authentic. With the phony—who knows? That filet mignon they’re serving might just be horse meat.

Did Michael Jackson die from complications related to anorexia?

The moment I heard the news of Michael Jackson's death, a 'cause' of death came to my mind mind. Jackson—pale, frail, and emaciated—died from an electrolyte imbalance brought on by dehydration—which resulted in cardiac arrest. His cardiologist on hand most likely knows this is what happened, as he firmly denies it was NOT because of any drugs he may have administered to Jackson.

As you may recall, Karen Carpenter and Terry Schiavo both suffered from cardiac arrest due to anorexia. Most people think anorexics die because of starvation. This is not true. While anorexics suffer the highest casualty out of any mental health disorder, the most frequent cause of death is by suicide followed by cardiac arrest from an electrolyte imbalance—not starvation. Calcium, potassium, sodium, and magnesium are vital electrolytes that regulate the heart's rhythms. Dehydration from starvation, purging, or exertion can deplete these minerals from the body very quickly—especially in a person with a long-term eating disorder—such as Jackson.

I think the good doctor knows what killed his patient. And I think the coroner knows as well. Toxicology reports will take a few weeks. And I believe they will confirm my theory—or at the very least will not be able to show any other plausible cause.

I am not a doctor. But I am a survivor of anorexia. Every emergency room visit of mine over the course of a decade was due to dehydration. It is no picnic experiencing the beginning symptoms of a seizure—tingling and numbness in the mouth and hands—realizing from past experience that you are beyond the point of being able to help yourself. You cannot re-hydrate your body by drinking—you need I.V. fluids and fast. You have no choice—you must get to a hospital ASAP.

So what happened with Jackson? He had a cardiologist on staff. Well, I think Jackson was a victim of his success in more ways than one. Not only did it screw up his childhood—which I am certain has something to due with him developing an eating disorder. But it also resulted in him being surrounded by a bunch of yes-men/women-enablers.

A firm hand—by his father—was not what he needed at eleven years old. But at fifty, somebody should have said, “No Michael. Enough is enough.”

Just my thoughts. I could be wrong about the ‘cause’ of death. Even so, I stand by the rest.

Voluntary relinquishment of autonomy... exercising the freedom to choose to not have choice. Sounds crazy eh? You can't relate, you say?!

Ask yourself these questions to find out if you are living a life in chains rather than being a free agent.

Do you believe in a god(s) or higher power?

Do you think that the government should regulate marriage, drug usage, sexual relations, and foodways?

Do you believe in karma, fate, or destiny?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, then you are not free--by choice.

If you want to be free, you must bury your god--a god that was created by simple human minds long ago. You cannot be free if you have a puppet master telling you what to think and how to act. You believe in patriarchy.

If you believe the government should function as your parent--telling you what to eat, who you can marry, and what drugs you can consume, then you have kicked your autonomy to the curb in favor of paternalism.

Last, if you believe that there is a plan--a path with your name on it, then you believe that your life's meaning and course of action are preordained. You are a docile body merely following the laws of the universe. You believe you are powerless.

Those who truly celebrate freedom reject patriarchy, paternalism, and powerlessness.

Those who choose to be ruled and regulated by invisible, constructed forces have decided that enslavement is a good thing.

But why? Why reject freedom?

Well, freedom can be a frightening reality to embrace. It has conditions attached that you must accept. Being free necessitates that you be responsible for your thoughts, ethics, and actions.

Freedom means accepting the absurdity that you will die and that you have only one life to live. It necessitates that you make the best of this short time. There are no second acts. This play ends after act one.

Freedom means that you have no purpose. There is no compass to guide you. You are on your own. You must create meaning for your life. You are the conductor of your orchestra.

Freedom requires you to educate yourself and make sound choices regarding your diet, relationships, and drug use. Paternalism is not compatible with freedom.

Lastly, freedom requires you to accept the fact that life is unfair. There is no karmic justice. Your good deeds will go unrewarded after your death. And evil persons who are not punished by our criminal justice system, will not be punished after death by god or karma. They will literally get away with murder.

Freedom is no free lunch. It has a price--conditions. People defend the idea of freedom of speech. They often fight tooth and nail for it. Yet, these same people don't embrace freedom in all these other areas.

Why?

Fear. Fear of death... fear of walking life's tightrope without a safety net... fear of making mistakes that can't be corrected or forgiven by a loving god... fear of feeling insignificant... fear of being the choreographer of your own life... fear of the notion that you are alone--there is no loving, forgiving god looking out for your best interests. To be blunt, it means knowing and accepting the fact that the universe could give shit. The ball is in your court.

Oh Joy!
Why do you avoid me?
Am I a plague?

You'll come close.
But we never touch.
You never stay.

My struggle to you,
Is wearing me down.
I can't keep pace.

Oh Joy!
Will we ever embrace?
Shall I end my chase?

My life is half over. Now this may not be a big deal to you. But it is a big deal to me.

I am frightened of the thought of becoming nothingness--the status I will acquire at death.

Death teases and taunts me daily. Thinking about death has become a habit--a compulsion. And I really don't know how to give it up.

Being an atheist is painful at times. Immortality sounds like a better deal than nothingness. But Heaven, Nirvana, and reincarnation are lies we tell ourselves because the idea of becoming nothing is simply and utterly unfair.

If I were able to believe in something despite how implausible it might be, then I would. But I can't. This is my burden.

Please check out my video series. Part I, II, and IV are complete. Part III is in the works. The working title is LOUD INSIDE.

Nabokov's LOLITA Revisited

art in the park

A couple of days ago, I made a video that features a song by Simon and Garfunkel. As a preteen, I loved their music. I used to lie on the carpeted floor of my family room--next to one of the stereo speakers--and listen attentively. As the turntable spun--releasing its wonderful melodies and harmonies, I fell into a trance. Holding the LP jacket, I would follow along, singing the words to the songs on "Bridge Over Troubled Water."

Simon and Garfunkel songs are musically and lyrically brilliant. They were the original Morrissey and Marr songwriting duo. But alas, egos and differences of opinion and temperament, led to both these duos parting ways.

Simon and Garfunkel have reunited for a few concerts since their breakup in the early seventies. Who could forget that magical reunion in Central Park on September 19th, 1981. THESE were the songs that saved my life. "The Boxer" remains my favorite to this day.

Album Cover

So anyway, while searching for pictures and information for my video, I stumbled across some interesting facts about S & G. First, Paul Simon is only 5' 1". Now that is short--especially for a man. Second, I learned that Art Garfunkel graduated from Columbia with a B.A. in art history. And... he went on to get his M.A. in mathematics. Also, Art is an avid reader and has documented all of the books he's read since 1968, on his website. Check it out.

Art Garfunkel was always my favorite of the two. That voice of his could warm the coldest of hearts. Simon came off as a bit of an ass--trying to hog the spotlight. An example of this is when he hijacked the song "Bridge Over Troubled Water" at the Central Park concert. He ruined half the song with his pitiful impromptu--I'll show you who's boss, Art--rendition. Ah well. Can't hate him. Without him, there would be no Simon and Garfunkel.

Here is a great video of the duo in Central Park... Or, at least the beginning is great. See Simon's ambush...

Video for "Bridge Over Troubled Water"

Israel welcomes Moz to the tribe.

Photo by Or Alterman c/o Morrissey-Solo Main Page article.